


Your Heart Beating Next to Mine

by stardropdream



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dragons, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Begging, Bottom Shiro (Voltron), Dragon Keith (Voltron), Intercrural Sex, M/M, Magic, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, Sexual Content, Size Difference, Size Kink, Soul Bond, Top Keith (Voltron)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-23
Updated: 2018-10-23
Packaged: 2019-08-06 06:57:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16383479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardropdream/pseuds/stardropdream
Summary: “Shiro,” Keith rumbles, voice low and gravely, and it shudders through Shiro. “You should rest.”“In a moment,” Shiro says, quiet, the dragon’s language comforting on his tongue.He knows he should rest, after being rescued by his dragon. And yet, that's the last thing on his mind. The first and only thing on his mind is Keith, all around him and over him, that burst of magic building between them. He can't ignore that.





	Your Heart Beating Next to Mine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jlarinda](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jlarinda/gifts).



> This is a birthday fic for JL who wanted Keith as a dragon because, as she claimed, there isn't enough Keith as a dragon totally _wrecking_ Shiro out there and that he has an ass and thighs deserving to be wrecked. 
> 
> You should all know my word doc for this fic was titled "Shiro really really really wants to fuck Dragon Keith".

There was a moment when Shiro was sure he was going to die. Time passes slower when cut off from magic and daylight— and their absence has marked Shiro’s captivity. He isn’t sure how long he’s been down here in this pit, only that the ache in the arm cleaved from his shoulder is a dull thudding pain rather than a sharp, twisting fire. His hair falls in his eyes— another sign of too long in the dark, too much. He breathes in and he breathes out again. He breathes. He keeps breathing. He tells himself that it’s all he can do. 

It wasn’t always like this, the battle against magic and those seeking to destroy it. There was a time when Shiro didn’t have to fear this. He remembers being with his clan. The druids would have moved on long ago by now, sensing the danger, valuing the entirety over the one, even a dragon-born such as himself. Better this way. He knows this. Better, too, he thinks, if he were to just die and let it be done. 

He remembers everything in waves, slow and fading. It comes to him and then drifts away again, never graspable. He spent so many years learning everything he needed in order to be a proper dragon-born, and then he let himself be captured by those who would eradicate all magic in the world. As if such a thing was possible. Still. Better him than his clan. Better him than the dragon he serves. 

“I’ll never see you again,” he whispers, and it’s the first time he’s spoken aloud in— so long. And the words rattle around the hole he’s in, loud and flinching to his ears, sallow and all-too-human. He tries again. He doesn’t know why he insists on it, only feels it low in his gut. The words slip out again, throaty and rasping, as if a fire burnt in his stomach, the ancient language of dragons: “I wish I could have seen you again, one last time— Keith. _Keith._ ” 

Time passes. He can’t be sure how much. The triskelion inked into his back pulses. It only ever used to do that during the spring renewal ritual, when he would spend days climbing the mountain to give thanks to the dragons, to renew the magic in the stones and the air and the trees. A yearly honor given only to the dragonlords. It’d been his and his alone. No more, now. And even then, it only ever pulsed in a low wave of magic.

Not intense, like this. His mark only burned this brightly the last and first time he saw Keith, laid his hands upon his muzzle and pressed his forehead down against him. So long ago that seems now. The day they met. The day he knew his life was bound to his dragon. 

Shiro closes his eyes. It makes little difference in the darkness of the well they’ve planted him in. 

He’ll never perform the ritual again. The thought aches, low in his gut. He’ll never see Keith again. He breathes. He breathes again. 

The last thing he hears, before he lapses into unconsciousness, the last threads of his life slipping away, is the flurrying sound of wind— as if a great force pushes down upon the earth. And a roar.

 

-

 

When Shiro startles back into wakefulness, he gasps and opens his eyes, his entire body aching, body leaning heavily against the spot of his shoulder where his arm was severed. It’s painful, but not as painful as the bombardment of light against his eyes. It’s been so long since he hasn’t been in the darkness—

It’s night now. Hardly any light at all, aside from the moon winking down at him, the starlight reflecting off the mouth of the cave he’s lying within. Still, it’s painful, and he takes a moment in which he curls into himself, opening his eyes first as slits and, only once adjusted, blinking open again. 

He goes breathless, taking in the sight of the world. Something he thought he’d never see again. He sits up with some effort, and as his eyes adjust, as his brain adjusts, to the knowledge that he is no longer within his captivity, he is—

He would recognize his mountaintop as if it were an extension of his own body. He knows these craggy cliffs, the rock faces, the flat expanse beyond the mouth of this cave. The flat plateau on which he once performed the rituals for the dragonborn, the stone grooved into its symbols from centuries of such rites. 

He knows this cave. He looks around in wonder, his entire body humming with magic— something he hasn’t felt in so long. Like a man dying from thirst, it floods into him and nearly overwhelms. He’s dizzy with it, the humming feeling of the magic all around him, slushing into his veins. The rocks. The forests. The air itself. It’s almost as if he is performing the ritual anew— his entire body is heightened. He can hear every sound around him, the world robust with music, the taste of the air thick with life. His triskelion hums at his back. 

He’s on a nest of blankets and furs, some old and frayed, others fresher. Some ripped at the corners. Haphazard, placed with effort but all around him. Beside him, too, is a small pile of charred meats, some fruits. Shiro’s body thrums with the hunger of magic, but a new hunger overtakes him. He lurches forward, picks up the food, and devours it. He doesn’t even taste it, mindless in his need for food, for the juice from the fruit. He nearly passes out with how quickly he eats it, how quickly his body fills again. 

He almost forgets to breathe. He heaves in deep, steadying breaths once he’s finished, his body trembling with the sudden lurching back into life. Alive. He is alive. He can see and smell and hear. He can eat. He can breathe. His knees are cushioned upon so many blankets, an absurd amount of blankets. Safe. He is safe. He is alive. 

He turns, suddenly knowing, down to the core of his being, that he is not alone. There is only darkness meeting him within the cave, but he can feel the weight of the shadow. 

“You’re here,” Shiro says, his words slipping out in the language of the dragons. 

Everything hits him at once, overwhelming. It’s been so long since he’s actually _seen_ Keith— too long now, years and years. As the magic leaks away from the land, the dragons sleep for longer and longer. He’s served his dragon for years, for his entire life, but the last time he’d seen Keith, he’d been barely out of childhood, Keith, too, a mere whelp of a dragonling. 

It’s been so long since he’s seen Keith, but he’s felt him over the course of his life. So many years he’s spent traveling to this mountain top, performing the rites in order to keep the dragons alive and connected, the magic flowing from dragon to dragonborn to druids. 

Silence meets him, but it is too precise to be emptiness. Shiro sits up a little and, indeed, something shifts— the air stagnates between him and the shadows. Shiro sits on his knees. Doesn’t move. His entire body aches, but Shiro finds that his heart aches heavier with some sort of desire, some sort of need— he can guess how he was brought here to this mountaintop, the one place where he’s always felt safe. He can guess that the roar he heard, however long ago it was, wasn’t some slippage into a dream, but a reality.

“You saved me,” Shiro says, with confidence, his tongue forming around the words in the dragon-tongue, as easy for him as breathing. 

There is silence still. Shiro worries, for only half a second, that he’s done something wrong to warrant Keith’s silence. His heart aches. 

Finally, though, the earth seems to breathe around him, as if the cave were trying to swallow him. To Shiro, there is no fear of this darkness, nothing like the pit he’d crumpled into. No, there is comfort in this dark, warm and inviting— nothing to fear beyond the veil of shadows. 

“Shiro,” says the dragon from the darkness, and Shiro knows Keith, knows the deep rust of his voice as if it were from his very own being— hasn’t heard his dragon speak for so long, but kin knows kin. The sound of his own name in the language of the dragons sends a shiver slamming through Shiro’s entire body. Keith’s voice is deeper than he remembers it— a dragon’s rather than a whelp’s. 

He smiles, despite himself, something like relief flooding through him. “You remember me.” 

“Obviously,” Keith answers. His voice is soft, far softer than a dragon’s shoulder ever be. “How could I forget you?” 

Shiro’s smile turns self-deprecating and he can practically feel the way Keith radiates displeasure at that shift. So even now, Keith can still read him. 

“I couldn’t blame you,” Shiro says. 

“You are mine,” the dragon says, voice whispering and quiet. “You are born for me. Dragon-born. My dragonlord.” 

Somehow, shockingly, the words are not commanding— Shiro spent years being taught the lore of those he served. Dragons are commanding, discerning, covetous, and unflinching. They are ancient creatures. But the voice that speaks to him now is softer than Shiro ever imagined the dragon’s language could sound. There’s almost a question to the words, an almost uncertainty. It’s still Keith, despite the years. 

“Yes,” Shiro whispers and he’s breathless, and his entire being aches for the need to crawl into that darkness and find the one he’s meant to serve. So close, his blood calls out to its coveted. Shiro feels his expression soften, and the harsh-edged words of the dragon’s language feels softer on his tongue as he speaks, too. “I never— I wasn’t sure if you were ever awake when I did the rituals. I worried my magic wasn’t strong enough.” 

“I was,” comes the quiet admission from the darkness. “It was. You always were strong enough, Shiro.” 

He’s struggling to his feet before he even thinks of it, desperate to be nearer to Keith, to _see_ him. But his body is weak, and he’s unbalanced without his arm. He nearly trips over himself. 

And just like that, Keith is upon him, emerging from the shadow faster than something of his size should be able to move. It is not a slow unfurling, but a desperate cry from the dragon as he moves into Shiro’s space, catching Shiro before he falls. Shiro’s legs are weak beneath him and he grabs onto Keith’s neck before he can think to take in the sight of him. 

“ _Shiro_ ,” Keith cries out, concerned and hurt, as if Shiro’s pain were his own. Something like belonging floods through Shiro. For the first time in so long, he feels as if he’s found where he’s meant to be. 

Shiro doesn’t gasp as he takes in the sight of Keith up close, but he feels himself stop breathing, the heat of magic spreading all through him, igniting him as he lays eyes on him. 

Shiro’s never seen a full-grown dragon before, but has grown up on the legends, the stories the druids told him when they first began training him, raising him. He’s often thought of what Keith would grow into, should they ever meet again, should the magic be strong enough to keep Keith awake. It’s like looking directly upon starlight, the night sky stretching out before him like velvet. The dragon before him is a deep-set purple, a color he’s never seen beyond the magic he pulls from the stars. Beautiful, sleek, and graceful as he moves, Keith curls around him— eyeing him, Shiro realizes. Close enough now, Shiro’s captured by his eyes most of all, the deep color them, the way they glow. He never forgot the color of Keith’s eyes, never in all these years. 

“Shiro,” Keith says again, worried. 

_You’re beautiful,_ Shiro thinks and the thought floods through him, engulfs him. Beautiful. Keith is beautiful. 

Shiro closes his eyes against the dragon’s voice, lets it wash over him. It is familiar despite its unfamiliarity— something burrowed into his heart. Still Keith, if tinged with the years between them. The one he was born to serve— everything within him calls out to the dragon. 

He remembers the first time he’d ever seen Keith— broken wing in need of mending, a hunter circling him for the easy pickings, for the covetous prize of dragon scales, never realizing the magical horror he’d commit by slaughtering something that is practically magic itself. Shiro, barely tall enough to wield any weapon, had driven himself out of the underbrush with a stick and slammed it hard into the hunter’s head. He’d scooped the injured Keith into his arms— a struggle, in the end. Keith was tiny for a dragon at the time, but still a dragon, but they’d managed to struggle away together. 

With no effort at all now, Keith moves and guides Shiro back down onto the nest of blankets and furs. Shiro lets him, his breathing ragged, his body feeling uncertain in its own skin. His hands linger on Keith’s neck, unwilling to let him go. 

“I’m sorry,” Shiro whispers, weakly, feels pathetic for the desperation boiling his blood. 

“ _You_ are not the one who should be sorry,” Keith growls, his words suddenly heated, fiery, commanding.

“How…” Shiro whispers, licking his dry lips. “How did I get out?” 

“You called out to me,” Keith answers, his voice still darkened. 

“I don’t remember,” Shiro admits, brow furrowing. 

“Your blood. Your magic. Everything within you— it was seeking me.” The triskelion at Shiro’s back murmurs, as if in agreement, those three swirls of ink and magic reacting to Keith’s words. Keith’s voice is low, angry but concerned at once. He says, “I was searching for you before then.” 

“Were you?” 

“You didn’t come for the ritual. You’ve… always come before,” the dragon says, his voice shy again, uncertain. Maybe frustrated. “I thought…” 

The triskelion at his back feels like it’s bursting into flame when he meets Keith’s eyes, as he turns his head to stare at Shiro. Shiro studies him, drinks him in now that he isn’t worried about falling over. 

His hand touches Keith’s jaw, palm to the shape of his scales, fingertips pressing to the heat, the dragon-fire within. 

“You’re beautiful,” Shiro says before he can stop himself from saying it. He flushes immediately, but also can’t be too embarrassed by his reaction. 

Keith pauses and then ducks his head a little. Up close, Shiro can see that he isn’t covered entirely in scales, but something akin to feathers across his brow, the arc of his neck. He’d been fuzzy when they were children— he remembers that much, remembers being surprised by how fluffy Keith felt in his arms as they scrambled away from the hunter. Keith looks softer to the touch up close, so against what he’s pictured a dragon to look like. 

In the moonlight, he does shine. Keith settles in his stance, eyes averted— shy, Shiro realizes with a start. He’s being shy. 

Something rumbles inside Keith’s chest and he shifts forward, bowing into Shiro’s space. Shiro rises on his knees to meet him, not even fully aware as to why he’s doing it, only knowing that the magic singing in his veins demands it, demands he reach out to touch his hand to Keith’s muzzle and bow forward, his forehead pressing to the space between Keith’s eyes, along the long expanse of his snout. He’s warm to the touch, nothing like the darkness of the night in that respect. Shiro breathes out and feels, for the first time in his life, like he’s always belonged in this moment. 

“I’m so glad you’re safe,” Keith says, softly, intimate. Shiro’s breath comes out shaky and rattling. 

“You saved me,” Shiro says, as if only now processing those words. He’d been ready to die. He’d been so sure he would die. And in a moment of desperation, the magic within him had called out for his kin, for the one he’d been bound to since the moment he was born— dragon-born, dragonlord. “Keith. You saved me.” 

“Yes,” Keith agrees, “But you saved me first.” 

Shiro laughs, something hitching in his breath. “That was so long ago, Keith. This is— ”

Keith rumbles in frustration and butts his head to Shiro’s. It nearly knocks Shiro over but he holds firm, leaning into Keith, warmed from the breadth of his fire. 

Shiro’s hand trembles from where it touches the soft side of Keith’s face, the shift from scales to feathers. They’re almost fuzzy to the touch, soft and warm and moving with Keith’s breath. Like the soft velvet of a stag’s antlers, almost. Shiro’s fingertips touch the spot, trace along the gentle line of Keith’s jaw. Not just his hand, he realizes as Keith curls around him, protective against the night, but all of him— his entire body trembles. He feels as if he’s going to shake apart. 

“I’ll never let anything happen to you again,” Keith murmurs, voice fired from within. “I’ll kill anyone who tries to harm you.” 

He feels the licks of fire that Keith manages to swallow back before it erupts from his mouth, and Shiro understands what he means. Shiro closes his eyes as Keith’s head tips forward, pressing against him. He nuzzles against Shiro, seeking to comfort him, and Shiro responds— nuzzles back, clings to him, tries to steady his breathing. 

“Nothing,” Keith whispers, his voice more weighted, more promising, full of longing and fire, “Nothing will ever take you from me again.” 

“Thank you,” Shiro says quietly as he trembles— not from fear, but want. 

Keith nuzzles harder into him. Shiro almost falls over, his body feeling weak from however long he was in that entrapment, weak from relief, weak from the crippling happiness of seeing Keith again once more— it must be the work of magic, he thinks, that he feels so complete just from the simplicity of having Keith near him. There must be something to the power of magic between a dragon and his dragonlord. When Shiro does shift back, it’s to press into Keith, who’s curled around him entirely now. When Shiro opens his eyes again, Keith is peering at him, and Shiro doesn’t doubt that determination in his eyes, only why he should be the source of such unlimited devotion. 

He gives him a wobbly smile, his hand tracing the line of Keith’s jaw. He’s painfully aware it’s just the one hand now. Keith shifts, tucks one wing around Shiro. He’s enveloped. 

Shiro’s breath hitches again, pathetically. Keith is _massive_. He’s all around him. His scales are warm beneath his fingertips. Shiro was the largest man in his clan— Shiro can’t recall the last time he felt small. There’s a comfort in it, really. To be cradled like this, to be surrounded by Keith. He knows he’s safe. 

“Shiro,” Keith rumbles, voice low and gravely, and it shudders through Shiro. “You should rest.” 

“In a moment,” Shiro says, quiet, the dragon’s language comforting. He slides his fingers down Keith’s neck, touches at the fuzz of feathers there, the long line of his neck. Keith makes a rumbling sound deep within his chest and Shiro feels it against where his back is pressed into Keith’s side, feels it slide through him. “I…” Shiro begins, swallowing as Keith’s eyes lock onto his again. “I can’t believe you’re really here.” 

Keith rumbles again and turns his head to nuzzle against Shiro. Shiro breathes out and closes his eyes as Keith’s warm snout noses into his hair, then snuffles against his cheek. When he shifts down his neck, Shiro feels electrified, especially when he feels the soft feathers against his cheek. Keith’s nose bumps against Shiro’s shoulder, his collarbone. He pauses at where the sleeve of his robe empties, nothing there to fill it out. He feels Keith go quiet, a rage swirling inside him that Shiro can somehow _feel_ , as if they are that connected. Maybe they are. 

Shiro hooks his arm around Keith’s neck and leans forward, nuzzling against Keith’s jaw in turn. “I’m alright. You found me.” 

“I should have found you sooner,” Keith hisses, frustrated at himself. 

Shiro tilts his head, his mouth pressing against the warm mosaic of Keith’s scales. He feels Keith still and then sink into the touch. Shiro presses kisses there, one against each scale he can reach, following the ridge of Keith’s brow. When he draws back, he looks at Keith. Keith looks back at him, something shy in his expression, something open and honest. 

“Keith,” Shiro whispers, mouth pressed to each scale slowly. He feels Keith warm beneath him, an ember finding its flame again. He smiles a little, flushed, suddenly, with a feeling of giddiness. 

He’s alive. Keith is here, all around him. 

“Please,” he whispers, and doesn’t know what he’s asking for. 

“Shiro,” Keith answers, and his voice is deeper than before, graveled out. There’s that shyness there, but Shiro can feel the moment when something shifts within Keith, when the bond shimmering between them solidifies and he feels Keith entirely, as if a mere extension of himself. The magic hums between them, mounts and crescendos, and all Shiro can think, breathe, and feel is Keith all around him. 

Keith noses first at his neck and then there’s the feeling of his tongue against his skin, and his tongue is big, just like the rest of him, curls around his throat and strokes upward, strokes up the column of his neck, his collarbones. He noses open the collar of Shiro’s robe and he fumbles to assist, lets it fall off his shoulders and pool at his waist. He’s quick to struggle out of his tunic. His movements are jerky and uncertain, but he doesn’t stop, doesn’t let himself think— can only think to be closer to Keith again, to have him here. 

All the while, Keith watches him. His tongue flicks out once, tasting the air, and then Shiro is reaching for him weakly. Keith bows into him, something like a low growl, almost a purr, sighing out of him as he nuzzles against Shiro. Shiro presses his mouth to each scale he can reach, follows his brow, the curve of his snout, kisses the spot between his eyes, the tip of his nose. His hand cups the bottom of Keith’s jaw as Keith licks over his neck, his collar, his shoulder. 

“Please,” Shiro says again. 

“You don’t have to do this,” Keith says, voice quiet, as Shiro presses kisses to the line of his jaw, hand smoothing down Keith’s throat, the warm, smaller scales of his neck. “I didn’t…” he sounds choked up, his scales almost hot to the touch now. “I didn’t save you only to have you feel like you owe me anything.” 

Shiro almost laughs at the suggestion, at the mere thought of it. He rises onto his knees again and lurches forward, pressing into the line of Keith’s neck. Keith ducks a little, his massive head curling over Shiro’s shoulder. Despite his words, his tongue touches at the line of his shoulders, the back of his neck, travels down to touch the mark at his back. It sings beneath Keith, magic thrumming between them. 

“Keith,” Shiro whispers, pressed to Keith, hopes that Keith can _feel_ him, all of him, every beat of his heart, the way his magic aches towards Keith’s. The bond whispers around them, all feeling and magic. “This feels right, doesn’t it? I— Please. Let me…”

Keith hesitates, shy again. Shiro leans back enough to meet Keith’s eyes, the endless pools of midnight and star. Shiro gives him a wobbly smile, cheeks flushed— shy now for his own reactions, for how desperately he wants to bridge the gap between them. It feels almost too much and not enough at once. 

“We were born for each other,” Shiro tells him, touches his mouth. Keith opens enough that he can feel the whisper of Keith’s teeth, sharp and deadly, and the slow lick of his tongue. He lets Keith taste him, taste his desire. Shiro doesn’t look away from him as he says, “Keith… I’ve never felt more right than in this moment.” 

“You’re still recovering,” Keith says, but it’s a weak, final protest because he leans forward and drags his tongue down over Shiro just to feel him shudder. Keith closes his eyes. “I can taste you.”

“Then you know that this is how I feel,” Shiro answers, knows Keith must taste his desire, his longing for Keith in this moment. 

“I’ve…” Keith says, and he shifts closer to Shiro, crowds into his space until Shiro finds himself tipping onto his back, sprawled out across the nest of blankets. “I’ve wanted you for so long, Shiro.”

Shiro looks up at him, wonder and awe uncontained, and Keith is everywhere in his vision, towering above him, surrounding him. It’s like looking up into the night sky. It’s like never coming back down again. 

“Then take what’s yours,” Shiro tells him, feeling bold, fueled on by the humming of Keith’s feelings, snapping across the bond. There’s magic here. It’s only ever been magic. 

He reaches for Keith but Keith is already bending down into him, noses off the rest of Shiro’s robe. With Keith’s help, Shiro manages to wriggle out of his trousers, dirty and torn, until he’s naked on his back, hard and aching already, staring up at Keith. 

“If I had enough magic,” Keith begins, “I could shift. I could—”

“You’re perfect,” Shiro interrupts, arches up with some effort to kiss the underside of his jaw. “You’re beautiful, Keith, just like this. I want you.” 

Keith looks at him for a moment, and then the last of his hesitation seems to melt away— and that was it, Shiro realizes. A disbelief that Shiro could want him. A belief he could be undesirable or unwanted. Absurd. Painful to think it for even a moment. 

Shiro arches his hips up, curls his hand around his cock, and strokes— staring up at Keith. Keith makes a sound, something hitching and growly, and Shiro knows if he was touching Keith, his hand would feel like it was on fire, he can practically see the heat radiating off Keith. Shiro strokes himself, fast at first, an almost desperate need to get himself off, to feel himself pulse into his hand. But then he takes a shuddering breath and slows— curls his hand on the upstroke, squeezes around the head of his cock until he groans out. He takes his time. Lets it build. His palm drags along the underside of his cock and he feels himself twitch in hand as Keith watches him, head tilted, eyes dark. 

Shiro tilts his head back, flushed, staring up at Keith, begging him without words. His entire body trembles. He’s alive. He’s surrounded— and never would he have thought this would be a comfort, to have his entire vision flooded with Keith above him, the wide span of his wings, the flex of his body as he bows over Shiro, noses at his neck as Shiro strokes himself. Shiro swallows thickly just so Keith can feel it, feels the huff of a surprised breath bloom over his skin as Keith moves. Shiro shudders, crying out a little at the proximity, at the intensity of Keith’s heated breath. His hips tremble. He strokes himself, squeezing harder than he might otherwise, his fingertips digging into the flesh as he strokes himself. 

His hand is slick with himself, the friction easing, the feeling mounting. He’s already so hard, just from the thought of Keith around him, over him, inside him. He keens out a little, twisting to press a kiss to a scale just at the corner of Keith’s eye. Up close, he can see the stars smattering over his scales, how some wink purple and others black. There are flecks of red in some places, intermixed with his feathers. He’s so beautiful. Shiro could cry. 

Shiro’s lips part, to request, to beg, he doesn’t know. But Keith’s expression crumbles a little, desperate and longing and looking only at Shiro. And he obeys the command Shiro does not speak, dips his head and licks his tongue over every inch of his body. It’s a long, slow drag— heated and warm and leaving Shiro pliant beneath him. It engulfs him. It sets him on fire. He arches, chest heaving, hips circling to meet the thrust of his own hand. 

When Keith’s tongue drags over his chest, catching in every dip and slide of his muscles, he gasps out Keith’s name. His heart thunders. His skin feels electrified, sparking with every drag of Keith’s tongue over his skin. He keens. Encouragement and pleading at once. Keith hums, low in his throat, and if it were possible for humans to house fires in their belly, Shiro knows he would be doing so now— knows that each sigh he lets loose would be accompanied by a lick of fire. Keith’s tongue scorches down his chest, over his stomach. Shiro heaves up, and Keith twitches, turns his head to watch him. 

“Keith,” Shiro whispers, and he’s never heard his voice sound like this before— low and desperate and throaty with desire. 

“Show me,” Keith tells him and it isn’t an official command, but Shiro obeys all the same— his body sings to follow the call of his dragon— and he strokes himself with purpose. He squeezes at the base, twists his hand up, thumbs at the slit at his cockhead. His body flushes and he bites his lip in focus, hyperaware of Keith’s eyes on him, shifting from watching Shiro’s face to the movement of his hand, the firm grip around his cock. 

Then Keith’s tongue darts out, follows the line of Shiro’s hip, the crease of his thigh as he pathetically hitches his knee up, seeks more friction from having Keith so close, radiating heat. His tongue is intoxicating, the feeling and thickness of it— so much of it at once, firm and slick against him, a little rough but still soothing. Tasting him. Shiro sighs. Then Keith’s tongue touches his cock and Shiro gasps, stilling for a moment before his eyes lock on the dart of Keith’s tongue from his mouth and stays there. Keith is unbearably gentle, tentative and exploratory. He starts with little kitten licks that grow, slowly, into deeper and longer drags. 

All Shiro can focus on is the feeling of Keith’s tongue on him. It’s huge. He feels so small as Keith’s tongue drags from base to tip of his cock, like it’s simple, like it’s nothing. His tongue curls, slides around the length of him, tastes and explores him. Shiro never wants to stop feeling so small in comparison, to have Keith towering above him, the heat of his breath against his feverish skin, the slide of his tongue around his cock. Keith makes a rumbling, pleased sound, his movements more confident now as he tastes Shiro. His tongue twists and spirals around his cockhead. He licks over his hips, his thighs, his balls, his cock. He traces the underside of his cock, presses the long flat of his tongue against the length of him. Shiro, desperate, cries out, pumping his hips up in a desperate quest for friction. 

“Keith,” he moans out, thrashing on the blankets. Keith flattens his tongue over his cockhead, laps at the slit. Shiro’s hips are jerky, imprecise in their movements. 

He thinks of that tongue covering every inch of him. He thinks of that tongue inside him. He stops thinking after that, something hitching in his mind, and he groans out desperately as Keith strokes over him again and again with his tongue. A moment later, thrusting up desperately to Keith, Shiro feels himself come. It slices through him, shocking, and he gasps as his hips shudder, his stomach sticky with come afterwards. 

He pants out, breathing heavily. His hand lifts, touching Keith’s jaw, fingertips sliding. Keith watches him, eyes darker now, almost black instead of purple. He licks at Shiro’s wrist, his palm. Shiro lets out a shaky, breathless laugh, and turns his hand to touch at Keith’s mouth, brush his fingertips over the sharp sides of his teeth, to let Keith lick at each fingertip, cleaning him diligently first there, then ducking his head to nose at Shiro’s softening cock, licking once just to see Shiro shudder from oversensitivity. He watches with quiet wonder as Keith licks his stomach clean, drinking down the come there. 

“Interesting,” Keith murmurs around the taste on his tongue, contemplating it. It’s cute, the way his brow furrows in thought as he tastes this new part of Shiro. 

Shiro manages a pathetic little whimper, something that in another life might have been a giggle or a moan at once. Keith looks at him and then he shifts, as if to move closer to him. When he does shift like that, though, Shiro catches sight of Keith’s cock, long and large and hanging plum purple and heavy between his back legs. Shiro can’t help but stare, his entire body twisting with the thought of it inside him. It wouldn’t fit. He’d be destroyed. He’s never wanted anything more in his life. 

He gasps a little and nuzzles against the crown of Keith’s head, his sounds far away and distant even to his own ears. 

“Shiro,” Keith whispers, his tongue tracing the lines of his muscles, the quiver of his stomach. “Can you feel it? The way the magic responds.” 

“Yes,” Shiro gasps. He can feel it all around them, mounting and growing with every move they make. Responding to them. Spurring them on. He thinks of Keith’s cock inside him, what that would mean for the magic. “I want—” Shiro begins, but can’t complete the words. “Keith—”

“Me too,” Keith says, and his voice is just as wrecked as Shiro’s. Shiro trembles, touching Keith as best he can, still thinking about that cock, still thinking about his tongue. He parts his legs a little, squirms on the blankets. Every inch of him feels overly sensitive. Every inch of him is on fire. 

“Keith,” Shiro whispers, nudging Keith away enough so he can squirm out on the blankets, roll onto his stomach. With effort, he manages to balance his weight on just the one hand, getting his knees under him. 

He glances back, suddenly shy, as he spreads his legs. Keith’s eyes are first on his, then traces the line of his back, the firm bulge of his muscles, the slope of his spine, his ass up in the air for Keith. The bond between them hums. Keith leans forward, dragging his tongue over Shiro’s back, tracing each muscle, the curve of his spine, the dimples in his back, the tattoo inked itno his skin. Shiro’s already panting, his cock still soft between his legs but twitching in interest. 

Keith noses at his ass, and then his tongue peeks out. It covers all of him at once, and too much. He feels it nudge at the back of his balls and Shiro gasps out, ducking his head and bending his back. He presses back against Keith as Keith makes him sopping wet, licking and licking and licking all over him until he’s dripping. His body trembles and it isn’t long before his cock thickens up, bobbing between his legs as Shiro rocks his hips back to meet Keith’s questing tongue. 

The flat of his tongue slides over him, the tip nudging at his rim. Shiro shudders. 

_Mine_ , he hears, crisp as a bell, shatter through his mind. He keens out, hand digging tight into the blankets around him. 

He feels the shift in Keith, the moment he moves from shy to possessive. His tongue darts over him, teases but never presses in, and Shiro cries out his frustration when the tongue returns to his back, tracing up the line of his spine, lingering at the triskelion on his back. The magic sparks inside him. He feels the blankets singe beneath his grip, an involuntary fire. Shiro rocks back as Keith’s tongue drags over the back of his neck. Hair spills into his eyes— too long, too long, he thinks— and he gasps out weakly as he feels the sharp bite of Keith’s teeth. Not enough to break skin, but enough for him to feel the weight of the dragon all around him, to feel the power in the line of his teeth. His tongue swells between the teeth clamped to his skin and presses against the knobs of his spine.

“Mine,” Keith growls, teeth dragging down his back. He licks over Shiro, tasting every inch of him, every lick of his magic, every lick of his skin, every lick of who he is.

“Yes,” Shiro gasps out, bowing his body. He squirms, shimmies a little, with some effort managing to balance his weight on his shoulder so he can reach back and grab at his cheek and stretch himself wide. “Keith,” he gasps. “Please—”

The sound that rumbles out of Keith is soft and pleased, almost a purr. Shiro’s terrified he’ll ignore him, but Keith obeys his plea, bowing back to lick at him. This time, he focuses on his rim, laves his tongue, hot and sliding against him. When he presses into him, Shiro’s body arches and swells with the thickness of that tongue. He’s sopping, wet and pleading, and it’s only because he’s holding himself open that he doesn’t start touching himself, fucking desperately into his hand and back against Keith’s tongue. The tongue is so thick inside him, he feels himself widen, feels his legs tremble as Keith fucks into him with his tongue, pressing in deeper with each stroke.

“Keith,” he gasps, and his words aren’t the dragon’s language anymore, but his native, human voice, shrill and needy. “Keith, please—”

 _I’ve got you,_ the voice ringing in his mind reassures him, and the tongue presses in deeper to him, deep and deep and deeper still. His entire body is full of Keith’s tongue and it’s as thick and pulsing as a cock. Shiro gasps, digs his nails into his cheek and tries to widen his stance, nearly pitches forward onto his face in his desperation to feel everything at once. Keith rumbles low in his throat, a moan, and it travels all through Shiro, every inch of him. Every part of him is Keith’s. 

His body feels split open just from this, the way Keith’s tongue presses inside him, flexes and strokes through him. His entire body is trembling. He drops his hand away and curls around his cock, stroking himself in time to Keith’s trusts. 

“Keith,” Shiro groans, “I want you— inside me, I want—”

Keith draws away and Shiro nearly cries with the loss, with the sudden feeling of _empty._ Keith nuzzles against his hip, though, and his entire body is so sensitive, shuddering at the feel of scales against his skin. 

“Once you’re recovered,” he says. “Next time.”

 _Next time._ Shiro cries out into something that tapers off into a sigh when Keith nuzzles over his back, little kitten licks over his shoulder blades, the bulk of his shoulder. Shiro turns his head to watch him, sweat at his brow, face flushed, lips parted and puffy with how firmly he’s been biting down. 

Keith is fire to the touch, overexcited and overwhelmed, his mouth parted as he breathes in deep, gulping breaths. Shiro twists a little, reaches out weakly to touch his face. Keith bobs into his touch, presses down against his palm and licks his wrist. Shiro’s eyes flutter, his entire heart lodging into his throat. He feels open and raw and far too empty. He wants Keith’s cock inside him, but knows he won’t be able to convince him of that. Not this time. Not yet. 

He can’t even think to be embarrassed with how desperate he is, how completely in Keith’s control he is. He’s never felt safer. He’s never felt more welcomed than this, as if he has known Keith for a lifetime, centuries, for millennia. 

Keith makes a soft, imploring sound, his eyes soft. Shiro traces his fingers over each scale, the line of his mouth. He closes his eyes with a pleased, trembling sigh when Keith licks his cheek in answer, nosing at his temple. Again, Shiro’s captured by the feeling of starlight all around him, a thousand shooting stars and comets, Keith glowing in the darkness. The most beautiful, beloved thing he’s ever seen. 

“Fuck me?” Shiro whispers, and it comes out a question, a prayer. 

Keith studies him and his eyes grow darker, the swirling infinite of the night on Keith’s body inviting him in, enveloping him. Keith nods, and nuzzles to him, licks over his shoulder. 

When Keith shifts back, it’s to lick over him again, lapping at his thighs as they tremble. Shiro widens his stance, gets comfortable resting against his forearm as he braces himself. Keith takes his time, drags it out enough that Shiro nearly comes again. His toes curl as Keith noses at the spot between his rim and his balls, licking experimentally before bathing his tongue over Shiro’s inner thighs, getting him slick and wet. His nose presses up against the underside of his balls and Shiro gasps out, rutting forward, seeking friction for his cock again. If he looks down and under him, he can see Keith’s tongue curling over the thick muscles of his thighs. His knees ache and his body feels sore, but he doesn’t want to stop. 

“You’re mine, Shiro,” Keith tells him once he’s finished licking over every inch of Shiro’s legs, the rumble lancing through Shiro completely. He gasps out, can only manage a nod of his head. 

And then Keith shifts, moves over him, and Shiro looks over his shoulder as Keith settles, pushes himself up to his full height as he moves to cover Shiro completely. Shiro doesn’t know where to look— engulfed, plunged into the night sky as he is. His eyes land on Keith’s cock, thick and wide and not human. 

“Keith,” Shiro says, with no other words to attach to the desperation in his tone. He shifts, arching his back, pressing his thighs together as Keith approaches, inviting. 

“Mine,” Keith whispers, and Shiro nods, his entire body singing with it— his, only his, born for him, born to serve him, born to be with him, born to birth magic with him.

Keith’s cock nudges up against the curve of Shiro’s ass, tucking into the spot there. It’s so wide, so thick. Shiro gasps, his entire body shuddering with desire as Keith shifts, circles his hips, nudges, and his cock slides between the tightened hole Shiro makes with his thighs, slicked and wet and ready for him. He slides right in, thick cock pressing up against Shiro’s body. It’s too much. His own cock looks so small in comparison and that alone is enough to make him want to come. 

He wants to touch him, wants to touch everything, but he resists. He keeps his balance but squeezes his thighs around the thick, burning cock between his legs, pressing into too sensitive skin. Keith groans above him and rocks against him as if fucking into him rather than between his thighs. 

Keith’s arms plant themselves on either side of Shiro, equally as thick and scaly and Shiro keens a little at the feeling of Keith arching over him, his wings draping around him like a curtain. 

“Keith,” Shiro gasps out, ducking his head and watching the cock press between his thighs. He clenches them tighter, seeking that friction. His hand claws into the blankets as he struggles to hold himself up. “Keith, _Keith._ ” 

Keith doesn’t answer, not in words, just a low rumbling growl as he fucks between Shiro’s thighs, his pace increasing with each stroke. His cock is huge, curving, brushes against Shiro’s balls and cock with each movement and Shiro is a trembling, shuddering mess. Every inch of him is overflowing with magic. He can feel it building inside him along with the inevitable need to orgasm, can feel the resounding power housed within Keith, one well of magic seeking the other, one bond seeking its bonded. 

Shiro’s panting against his arm, damp and desperate with his breath, and he rocks back weakly to meet Keith. His pace is punishing, each thrust bruising. Shiro loves it. He’s never felt so contained and cosmic at once, every inch of him humming. 

Keith ducks his head, presses his snout hard against the center of Shiro’s back, noses at the triskelion and shoves Shiro’s chest down against the blankets. He’s completely bowed, almost uncomfortably so, but Shiro only cries out his pleasure. He presses his cheeks down against the blankets and lifts his arm, seeking Keith blindly. Keith bumps into him and lets Keith hook his arm around his head, force him over his shoulder as he rocks down against him. Shiro’s a desperate, crying mess, all sweat and Keith. 

“I want— I want— I want,” Shiro hiccups, punctuated by each punishing thrust of Keith’s hips, unable to complete the thought. It’s open longing, a desire for everything and anything. Keith growls low and licks at the shell of his ear. The edge of one of his teeth grazes the edge of his skin and Shiro shudders.

Keith’s cock, between Shiro’s thighs, pulses. Shiro gasps, his entire body thrumming and focusing in on that feeling. His cock twitches again and his movements become more desperate, seeking any sort of friction. Shiro’s cock twitches on an upstroke of Keith’s cock, and he tightens his thighs around him, clenching him tight, not letting him pull back without a grunt in his ear. 

“Keith,” Shiro gasps, and shoves him back enough to flip onto his back, legs splayed open obscenely and reaching for him. Keith looks shaken, but comes to him, lets Shiro guide one arm down so he’s caged in, claws all around him, pinning him down. 

Shiro lifts his hips and legs up with a grunt, pressing his thighs together again, displaying himself. He doesn’t have to whisper out the soft _please_ he’s about to say because Keith understands, digging his claw down against Shiro and approaching him, cock squeezing between his thighs again, sliding over Shiro’s cock. It takes only a few strokes of that firm friction before Shiro’s shuddering around his orgasm, coming with a loud, trembling cry and an arch of his back. 

Keith freezes as Shiro shudders through his orgasm, gasping and moaning and clawing at Keith’s arm against his chest. Keith’s panting, too, his chest heaving, his wings poised around them. Shiro can’t look away from him, doesn’t drag his eyes away from Keith’s face as he comes, surrounded by him, made small by him. 

He’s trembling even after he comes down, come pooling on his stomach, his cock twitching with an unhurried desire. Shiro digs his nails into Keith’s arm, touches the scales. After a moment, his touch gentles, looking up at him. 

He wriggles his hips, squeezes his thighs together around the thick cock resting there, the tip weeping with come. He’s close. He can feel it in every inch of his being that Keith is close, that he’s only just managing to hold himself back. 

“I want you,” Shiro tells him and Keith growls, his entire body on fire as he rocks hard between Shiro’s thighs. He’s burning up. He’s being engulfed. There’s no coming down from this, he knows. There’s only the monstrous drag of Keith’s cock, the power of his thrusts, the feeling of Shiro’s soft, naked thighs pressing around that thick cock. 

When Keith comes, Shiro feels it shudder through their bond, then Keith’s body all around him. The claws around him clench and tighten, never enough to hurt, but enough to be felt. Keith’s cock gives two pulses and then come shoots over his stomach and chest, high enough to splash against his chin as he dips his head down to watch Keith’s cock pulse between his thighs. He’s overwarm, drowning, and he gasps a little, tastes Keith’s desire on the air. The edge of the blankets around them catch on fire but Shiro doesn’t look away from Keith’s weeping cock, the way Keith thrusts desperately against him, giving a low cry, something that sounded once like Shiro’s name. 

Keith’s panting when he regains himself and Shiro gives a little whine, his entire body relaxing as he sinks against the blankets. His eyes are half-lidded as Keith turns all attention to him, going to him, nuzzling against his cheek with an unbearable tenderness. 

Shiro sighs, lifting his hand and calling the fire back into his body, housing it away. The blanket’s burning ceases immediately, and his body is flooded with Keith’s magic. His magic. Their magic. 

He nuzzles back, kisses Keith’s mouth. Keith gives a soft rumbling sigh in response. 

His body feels too high-strung to respond beyond some overstimulated shudders when Keith licks him clean, tasting their come mingled together on Shiro’s heaving chest and stomach. Keith is slow, methodical, mindful not to overwhelm Shiro or push him too far into discomfort. But it’s impossible for that to happen. Even high-strung like this, Shiro’s never felt so relaxed, needed. He traces his hand along the curve of Keith’s head, follows the ridges at the back of his neck, tugs playfully at the little feathers there. 

“You’re beautiful,” he says again, once he feels like he has his voice once more. 

Keith peers at him, tongue tracing over the line of his hip bone. He bites down gently, enough to leave a mark. Shiro sighs. His smile is warm, almost teasing. He remembers that, too, from their time as children— how flustered Keith could be, how he accepted Shiro’s teasing with just a small grumble. 

He strokes his palm down along Keith’s jaw. Keith finishes cleaning him and leans up towards him, pressing down against Shiro’s forehead so they’re eye to eye. As Shiro’s eyes fall shut, so do Keith’s, and they breathe that same air, that same space, that same magic. 

“You’re describing yourself,” Keith finally answers, but it’s as much an admission as it is dismissal. Shiro chuckles, softly, and kisses Keith’s multitude of scales. 

“The magic,” Shiro asks, after a moment. “What happened?”

“We bonded,” Keith says, but there’s a note of uncertainty to it. “It’s… what was done, once.” 

Shiro hums, accepting this. He suspects that Keith is as much an expert in this as he is. Which is to say, not very much. Keith is a very young dragon, after all. And he’s—

“Mine,” Shiro sighs, leaning against Keith. 

Keith hums, low and possessive but gentle still, and nuzzles into Shiro’s neck and shoulder. 

“If you really want me,” Keith says, offers it like a shrug, but Shiro can sense the weight of the words through their solidified bond, can feel how much it means to Keith to be wanted, even like this, to be wanted by someone like Shiro. 

Shiro closes his eyes, tracing his fingertips down Keith’s throat. “I do.” 

He feels sore all over, weak in the best way possible. He sighs out and lets himself sink entirely into the blankets, tugs Keith down to blanket him, too. He curls around him obediently, draping his wings over Shiro, protecting him from the world. He wriggles a little beside Shiro and then curls down, his head resting down beside Shiro’s. 

Shiro curls onto his side and faces Keith, his smile soft and secretive. Keith’s wing settles down around him, the hard edge of it stretching over his back. Shiro closes his eyes for a moment and only sighs, utterly at ease. 

“Humans are very soft,” Keith observes, after a moment. 

Shiro chuckles, opening his eyes again to look at Keith. Keith looks embarrassed by his reaction, if the way his brow furrows is any indication. Shiro can feel the scales warming beneath his fingertips. 

“Do you like it?” Shiro asks. 

Keith is silent for an entirely too long, too damning moment. Then he says, “You taste good. It’s different.” 

“Just wait until you’re inside me,” Shiro mumbles. Then he flushes and lets out an embarrassed laugh himself when Keith’s eyes narrow into something dark and promising. 

Keith’s tongue strokes over his cheek, once, soft and tentative. A promise, in a way, but also reassurance. Shiro sighs and closes his eyes, his smile gentle. 

“Next time,” Shiro tells him.

“Right,” Keith says. “Next time.” 

Shiro’s smile is likely ridiculous, but he finds he doesn’t care. Keith nuzzles against him one last time. 

“Sleep,” he tells Shiro, gentle, far gentler than anything he’s ever heard. Shiro can’t fight a command of dragon to dragonborn, and so he closes his eyes and sleeps, never once doubting he was safe.

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of the [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject) (including the [LLF Comment Builder](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/commentbuilder)), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates responses, including:
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